Lawless
by jadedone
Summary: In a world without law, there can only be chaos goes the old adage...but B begs to differ and would like to challenge Kira and L to a little game of Justice where the rules open to interpretation and winner takes all.


**Prologue: (After Beyond Birthday...)**

* * *

"_We only die once, so let's make the most of it." - Anonymous_

* * *

A had 338 seconds to live.

For once B focused his attention on the older boy's paling face rather than the countdown defining and equalising all humans.

Except B, of course.

"Come to gloat." A's had a particularly dry manner of speaking. He never asked; he stated. It was one of the things B was both fascinated and irritated by thus had made note of, smoothly replicating it when it suited him to.

"Should I now." B casually scrutinised the long vertical incisions upon A's arms, messier towards the end and had to smile at seeing the almost arbitrary horizontal lines which could have been dismissed as a failed first attempt were they not obviously made after the vertical lines, motor control having deteriorated at that point to cause them to be more unevenly applied.

A caught the glance and gave a soft huff, which was what passed for a laugh for him. B was more inclined to loud, throaty ones himself, and it had been remarked upon several times as somewhat akin to a hyena's bray, which suited him just fine.

Casually he crouched down onto his heels and leant forward to take hold of A's thin wrist, which was bleeding more sluggishly now, only the slight narrowing of pale eyes showing his continuing awareness. The older boy was possibly more slender than B but it was hard to tell with the loose clothing the two preferred. Generally A favoured long sleeves but had apparently opted out of one in preparation for this pathetically prosaic suicide.

"Heh. Looks like jam." He popped a stained finger into his mouth and had to keep from wrinkling his nose at the coppery tang. _Blergh_.

Even bleeding out from self-inflicted wounds onto a grungy attic floor, A still managed to look condescending. Or maybe it just came naturally; B never could tell which.

In spite, B focused on the numbers again. About five minutes left…

"You have blood on your mouth." B lazily rolled his eyes at A. So? "So they are going to assume that you killed me." B laughed outright. Only a fool would kill someone so, heh, _close to home_. "Hm, it _would_ be foolish." B dug his nail into the corner of the makeshift brand in pique at being called a fool. At least _he_ was not the one bleeding himself out because he _lost._

A barely reacted to both the physical and mental dig, but B counted it a victory that he did finally tug his arm away, letting it flop to rest like a wounded bird.

Or angel; there had been quite an insipid rumour regarding the origins of A's name to that effect several years back.

Ridiculous. Could they not _see_ that A was for Avery Avon? No? What a shame.

B grinned at A, hm, no, _Avery_, after all he was hardly sacred anymore; suicides did not get to go to heaven after all…

"Oh, piss off Back-up and let me die in peace." Slightly slurred but clear enough. B did the natural thing and ignored this 'impolite request' and scuttled over to squat beside Avery. Hm, not a bad view out there. Quite a significant little drop to the flagstones below, it made B wonder why A had chosen such a…_plebeian_ death.

B would have chosen fire himself. It had a bit more - how could he put this? Oh, yes, _flare_ to it.

"Are you happy, B?" B's stare turned almost involuntarily on A. "You're always smiling smugly, full of closed secrets you never deign to share." A elaborated. Fascinating how death could turn a chronic liar honest, in search of truths unspoken. B had seen it before in A's case files where alternative means of interrogation had been employed. Invariably the suspect would confess in hopes of an end; the trick was to garner a true confession, and the pressure was most always psychological of which A was quite the purveyor of.

B was under no obligation to reply, just as he had no obligation to be here. He just wanted to.

"BB is not sad." He rocked slightly closer, simultaneously flexing his calf muscles so that they would not cramp. Deliberately he licked his lip and chewed at it, "BB is curious how A would die. Now that B knows, he is content." Avery's eyelids dipped to dangerous slits and for a moment B was sure that he would be struck though logically the other would be too weakened by blood loss at this point. A was volatile, and there would be few indicators if any were he to attack. B had learned them first hand, and instead of being deterred, it became somewhat of a game, alias A-baiting.

His mind latched upon a new game, probably the last considering Avery's remaining time, and he leaned in a touch too close and whispered as if in confidence, "Do you think L is happy?"

To his delight Avery smiled back, murmuring, "Who knows. I lost." With that A's eyes for once slid closed completely, causing the shadows around his eyes accumulated from many sleepless nights chasing the shadow of L to come to prominence without the offsetting effect of his disconcertingly pale grey eyes.

The counter was at twenty seconds and counting. B cocked his head and hummed for effect, regaining a slight sliver of iris, "but _I _should know dear Avery-kun." Even the onset of death could not stop the startled gasp in lieu of a death rattle. He widened his eyes in final mocking mimicry of the other, "For_ I _am L."

The counter hit zero, taking any garbled reply Avery Avon could have made with it. Ah, well, the look on his no longer apathetic 'angelic' face had been worth it.

Boredom settling in quickly after the brief high, B got up and walked over to the open window and swiped a careless finger over the shimmering pane, tutting at the wasted opportunity. A really should have jumped…perhaps he was waiting to be found? That thought had B doubled up in hilarity; maybe he had even wanted someone to stop him and instead he had gotten B, who had received a most entertaining chat out of it.

B did not believe in sympathy. Everybody died, and in the end were only the sum of their individual numbers.

And Avery Avon, A, the world's former greatest detective was in the end just another statistic.

Something in B could almost pity that but the fool had brought it upon himself and now it was left to B to clean up after him and make sure that he would not make the same mistake as his predecessor.

He was _Beyond_ him after all, henh henh.

* * *

The sun had just set and just above the chapel bells tolled the hour for Wammy House. Beyond Birthday took some time to compose his expression into something suitable of A's successor; shocked and appalled at his 'findings' yet driven rather than distraught by the event. This called for subtlety B was none too fond of being as that was more Avery's style. He preferred misdirection through dramatics, however as an accomplished actor he would adapt as always and play the part necessary to blind and deceive.

He had had sufficient time to observe A, and at times to general consternation, imitate A, so it should be believable that A's death would cause him to 'lapse' into that behaviour.

At a loping stride he took the attic stairs two or three at a time. Meanwhile his mind was clicking his report into place, for surely old man Wammy would want to question him himself and absent-minded and benign as the codger could seem Beyond had seen his file (purely by chance it had been waylaid, henh) and knew of his many exploits, the ones B was most familiar with being of course, Wammy House itself, and the creation of the title of A.

Less well known, for good reason, and buried deep within aforementioned file was Wammy's greatest failure, L, who most ironically enough happened to be the world's greatest criminal…but this was old news to B who had become sidetracked in his quest to surpass A by the far more fascinating original. Depressingly little had been found concerning the erstwhile House resident, only a brief but no less interesting for it footnote regarding the old man's regrets at having lost L to 'them'.

Clearly the old man was going senile, for he should have at least destroyed all evidence of having known L and certainly not have kept records of his apparently brief residence at Wammy House.

Conversely, B was quite peeved at the lack of information pertaining to who exactly 'they' were. Vagaries; how B loathed them. And sentimentality for that matter, so the old man was at least twice the fool B believed him to be. And no, he was not still sulking over A being chosen to be the next 'L' over B, not at all. For that would be petty and B was for bitter; not something pathetic like _petty_.

At least there was jam and thus balance would be restored for B...otherwise he would have to kill everyone around him if only to put an end to their constant attempts to profile him.

* * *

_A is dead._

The words seemed to float fluorescently, independent of any visible support in the near-dark.

Then a reply flashed up letter by staccato letter, before the timed connection cut off. No chance for a tracer or trail available for any hacker to follow.

The mobile phone was immediately disposed of after usage with perhaps more vitriol than strictly necessary.

_No matter._ The owner had a dozen more like it available at short notice.

There was a near-inaudible squeak of a chair followed by the soft pad of bare feet across wooden floorboards. Then sudden illumination as the screen door was slid back and a pale, stooped young man emerged from the darkroom with a moue of distaste.

L despised losing, thus took great pains to avoid the experience.

However, humanity as a whole was wrong about the greatest loss known to man, as death in itself was merely a transition from one state to another, so logically, there was no loss but that of the habitual state known generally as life.

True loss was that of something far rarer and thus not to be squandered by selfish, petulant children.

_Like A._

L despised the loss of talent, though he did not mourn the boy. A had lost, as everyone eventually did to L, and was thus of no further interest to him. Though it annoyed him that he could have lost to such a petulant selfish child, who certainly had the talent, if unrefined and clouded by delusions of grandeur without the necessary self-preservation instinct and staying power to back it up.

Icarus again flew too close to the sun and fell to prideful ruin.

_Stupid A._

* * *

**AN:** Okay folks, this is the last helping of backstory for quite some time and hopefully the rest should be of a pace more up to DN standards, meaning no flashbacks if possible (I'm trying to wean myself off the damn things...-.-') Opinions thus far? Wild speculation? You know you wanna...-click-


End file.
